


Loving You Easy

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I don't know if anything in it is qualified as a spoiler, I ship Dean and Cas as being in love and friends because they both could use that in a relationship, M/M, The third chapter gets slightly less fluffy, This is classified as fluff I guess, This takes place during Season 9? Maybe?, and Cas is enjoying Dean's singing and dancing around the kitchen, and Sam is out at the crack of dawn jogging, because Dean is cooking breakfast in the bunker, just a warning, unless you count the fact that Castiel is human as a spoiler...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story's title and the song lyrics at the beginning are based upon a song by the Zac Brown Band entitled "Loving You Easy". I do not own the rights to the song, but I have changed some of the lyrics in my version.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story's title and the song lyrics at the beginning are based upon a song by the Zac Brown Band entitled "Loving You Easy". I do not own the rights to the song, but I have changed some of the lyrics in my version.

DEAN: Every morning when you come downstairs,  
Hair’s a mess but I don’t care.  
No necktie on but shining so bright—  
My old sweatshirt never fit so right . . .

CAS: Dancing around to the radio,  
Singing all of the words you know,

DEAN: Letting this angel in my life is bliss

CAS: Thinking that it won’t get any better than this

BOTH: You make loving you easy  
You make loving you all I wanna do

CAS: Every little smile

DEAN: Every single touch

BOTH: Reminds me just how much it all makes loving you easy!  


***

Dean hears Sam leave for his ungodly jog at the ass-crack of dawn and groans, digging his fists into his eyelids. He decides to get up and cook a real breakfast for the two of them—and for Cas, too—if he’s still here, at least; the Winchester tries to ignore the lurch in his stomach as he thinks of Castiel being gone. Again. He tiptoes past the erstwhile angel’s room {just in case} and tramps down to the kitchen to make eggs and brew coffee, turning on the radio quietly as he passes it. Spraying Pam in the big frying pan, Dean cracks an egg into it. He swivels his hips and slings a dishtowel over one shoulder as Boston’s “More Than A Feeling” comes on.

Castiel shuffles down the stairs, wearing an old sweatshirt of Dean’s and with his hair looking like a rat’s nest. He smiles to see his friend dancing and humming all around the kitchen as eggs and toast and bacon are cooking. Not as silent now as he used to be when an angel, Castiel runs into the frame of the kitchen door. Dean whirls around and visibly relaxes to see him.

“Mornin’, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” And then for a moment they simply gaze silently at one another; Dean thinking how glad he is to see Cas—still in the bunker and wearing that hoodie WELL, damn—and he likes Cas’s hair like this, wild and spiky. Cas is impressed with how well Dean’s pants fit in the back as well as in the front, which he can tell because the Winchester is doing the pelvic thrust along to the song that is currently on the radio. Something about eyes of tigers. Dean is grinning in the relaxed way that he does not do nearly often enough.

***  


“Did you sleep all right?” Dean asks now, bringing a mug of freshly-brewed coffee over and handing it to the erstwhile angel. Their hands meet and Castiel doesn’t immediately pull away; which makes Dean feel unsure of what he should do. Should he withdraw his hands now and pretend the holding never happened? But he can’t help stroking the back of Cas’s hand with his thumb, and Castiel is just looking at him with those eyes that see and express so much.

Dean finally lets go and swallows hard before pointing out where he keeps the milk and sugar. As Castiel stretches up to get the sugar from its high place, Dean wants to run his tongue over the strip of skin that has just been exposed around Castiel’s midriff. He jumps guiltily when the other man turns back around. Does Cas know what Dean is thinking? He is reassured on that front when the ex-angel slowly says,

“I have yet to get used to sleeping. I find it hard to let my thoughts leave the conscious levels of my brain.” Dean smiles and shakes his head in wonder. How similar the two of them are!

“Same here, buddy. I usually have to listen to about ten songs on my night-time playlist before I even START to fall asleep.” He laughs suddenly, and Castiel is slightly confused.

“Why are you laughing, Dean? I don’t see anything that would be considered humorous about this.”

“Oh,” Dean says finally, still laughing, “I was just thinking if it’s this hard for a guy like ME to get shut-eye, what’s it like for ol’ Brainiac Sammy? How well does he sleep?”

“Like a baby,” Sam himself says shortly, entering the kitchen all sweaty from his run. “I use up all of my brainpower during the day, Dean. Hey, Cas.” Sam crosses over to and opens the fridge, pounding back almost half a gallon of orange juice, to Dean’s abject and utter horror. “Ah! Damn that’s good. When’s breakfast?” His older brother mock-glares.

“It’s not until you take a shower—I don’t want my kitchen smellin’ rank. And if you take longer than ten minutes, your food’ll be cold. So chop-chop!” The younger Winchester makes a face after his brother makes this comment.

“You’re so bossy!” He loudly whines, adding under his breath: “and short.”

“I heard that second part!” Dean makes a face, unimpressed. “Heh-heh. Is that supposed to be an insult? Because I know you love me.” Sam sighs and is about to make a snappy retort because Dean looks so satisfied with himself . . . and then he grins.

“Yeah, I love you sooo much, Dean!!” He grabs his brother in a bear hug that smashes Dean’s face into Sam’s sweaty t-shirt.

“Augh!! GROSS!!!! Wow. Sam, you suck.” Dean gasps when his brother finally lets go. “You really, really suck.” Sam laughs and walks away to take a shower triumphantly as Dean vigorously scrubs his face with a washcloth and glowers after his brother is long gone.

Castiel comes over to offer his aid in preparing the remainder of the breakfast. Dean nods at him gratefully, yet the Winchester is rueful about his younger brother’s flippancy over the matter.

“Food is a very important thing, Cas. You’ve gotta show respect for food. Always. Never take it for granted—because who the hell knows—it might be your last meal,” Dean growls gruffly. He acts so serious that the former angel longs to lighten the mood and feel of the air.

“Well, if this IS my last meal, I am glad that I get to eat it with you, Dean.” The cook blinks, both startled and gratified to hear his friend utter those words.

“Thanks, Cas. Same here.” They get lost in each other’s eyes for a moment or two—at least until Sam clomps back down the stairs, still toweling off his long wet hair.


	2. Chapter 2

***

“Technically, that awesome breakfast we just had was our last meal here,” Dean announces as Sam washes and Castiel dries the dishes. “Who’s up for going to get more food later?” Sam groans.

“Not me. You’re never satisfied with the brands I buy, Dean.” Dean sighs at his brother dramatically.

“That’s because food is IMPORTANT, Sammy. Gotta get good products when you’re a good cook.” Sam rolls his eyes. Says Cas:

“I would like to know how to discover the best brands, so I will gladly offer you my assistance, Dean.”

“All RIGHT! Hear that, Sam? Cas is ready to learn! Let’s get goin’.”

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls after them, as Dean bounds down to the garage with Castiel following. 

The two make it a day-long excursion because it’s been a hell of a long time since Dean has been able to relax. They go to several stores, some a few towns over, because Lebanon is pretty small and thus only has a Food Lion and a WalMart—Dean told Cas that every time he passed those places, a little part of him died; seriously, how good can a grocery store be if it doesn’t even have corned beef?—so they are on the search for better grocery stores. Castiel’s face lights up when they enter a Trader Joe’s. So many sights and smells to scope out; he makes a beeline for the coffee and honey aisles and stares at the varieties for so long that Dean, carrying the shopping basket and standing behind him, just has to grin.


	3. Chapter 3

DEAN: He watches over me late at night

CAS: Oh, his dear face in the candlelight  
I try so hard to say it at last—

DEAN: These good times fly by so fast . . .

BOTH: But you make loving you easy  
You make loving you all I wanna do

DEAN: Every little squint

CAS: When he licks his lips I get a rush  
Which reminds me just how much

BOTH: It all makes loving you easy—;  
You make loving you easy,  
You make loving you all I wanna do  
Every sideways glance and every pelvic thrust  
Reminds me just how much it all makes loving you  
Easy . . . easy . . . easy!!!  


***

They get back to the bunker late that night after grabbing dinner and drinks. Cas unpacks the grocery bags (since his friend drove the entire way AND paid for Castiel's food and beverages) before he ushers Dean off to bed. A fuse in the back must be broken, so they have to maneuver through the halls by flash- and candlelight. 

Castiel doesn’t feel at all tired, so Dean tells him to sit down in the chair next to the Winchester’s bed— “Take a load off, Cas,” and they talk about nothing and everything. Dean worries about how much of a toll the Trials took on Sam; Cas assures him that his younger brother is doing the best that he can. “And what about you?” Staring at him with those gleaming green eyes, Dean cannot help but ask. “What’s goin’ on with you? How are you doing—as a human?” Seeing the soft glow on his friend's face in the candle’s light: Well, Dean, I have discovered that I’m in love with you, is what the ex-angel longs to say. But he is not sure—even now, after all they’ve been through together—if that is acceptable for him to say, or even if that feeling is acceptable for him to feel. His love grows stronger each and every day, but he cannot tell if Dean feels the same way.

"Being human is...interesting. There are so many things I had no conception of when only inhabiting the body of this vessel. Now that I AM human, I...things are different. I can truly taste food, for example. The entirety of something."

"Whaddaya mean?" Dean asks, his eyebrows rising. "You tasted things before—I distinctly remember that time you ate like ten burgers in my car," and I really wanted to wipe the mustard off your mouth with mine, he adds in his head. Whoa, slow it down. Focus, Winchester. He's opening up to you. Pay attention.

"Well," Cas's forehead wrinkles and his lips purse as he tries to figure out a way to explain some of these sensations to Dean. "When I was an angel, the steak we ate tonight would have been atoms. I would have tasted all of them individually. As a human, I simply tasted the steak. It would still have been flavorful and delicious, but also..."

"Overwhelming." Dean nods. "I can get that." He is feeling rather overwhelmed at the moment. This day with Cas flew by so fast, the hunter thinks rather ruefully. Really good days always do. And—especially in recent months, or years, really—he hasn’t had all that many good days. So he’s savoring this time talking to Castiel. When the erstwhile angel tilts his head and squints, Dean cannot hide his grin. He hides so much of his inner self, still, even with Cas—but the other man is taking Dean’s defenses down one-by-one. Castiel now stands at the door of the bedroom and says,

“Good night, Dean. I hope you sleep well,” so sincerely and quietly. Dean moistens his lips and makes a reply:

“Thanks, Cas. Same to you.” And now Castiel is frozen there, seeming helpless all of a sudden. Dean throws his blankets to the side and shoots up out of bed. So many awful occurrences happened in the past because he was afraid to ask about things, afraid to talk. On this occasion Dean refuses to be like that. He goes over to stand beside his friend and adds, a tiny bit hesitant, “Castiel, what’s up? Are you all right?”

“No,” Castiel’s voice is so low when he replies while shaking his head that Dean must lean closer to hear it. Cas continues: “. . . I am not all right. I love you, Dean Winchester, and this feeling is tormenting me.” Dean stares into his friend’s sky-blue eyes and is lost for words. Castiel, however, is not. This becomes obvious when he continues to speak: “Because I don’t know what you want, and if my immense amount of love will be a burden to you—if I will become even more of a burden to you than I already am as a result of saying these words to you now. All that I know is that you are—that you mean everything to me, Dean. That is why I could not stay in the crypt after I had killed you so many times before only to realize at the last possible second that I would not do it then. Not this time. There is no way to explain what you truly mean, except that I believe in you as I always have believed since the moment I saw your soul shining so brightly in that deepest darkest pit of Hell. And it torments and tears at me that this is your life. No matter what you and Sam have done to move beyond it, this will always be your life. You have not been able to find peace and love that does not eventually take your hope away and crushes it into dust that blows away in the wind.” 

He is solid as he speaks and Dean cannot believe how strong Cas is. To feel all of those things and to at last have the ability to put them into words . . . it takes more guts and courage than Dean himself has amassed throughout his thirty-five years of life and all of the time he spent in death. The hunter, on the opposite end of the spectrum, feels himself starting to shake as the words of his angel hit home. He cannot say anything. He tries twice, but the words are caught in his throat and his jaw is working furiously as he strains so desperately not to cry. All he can do, all he can say, in a voice gruff and infinitesimal and choked with unshed tears, is:

“Come here, buddy,” and pull Cas to him in a fierce back-cracking hug. He presses himself as close as he can to the other man. Perhaps his actions will speak louder than do his fumbling inarticulate words. Dean's fingers firmly clutch Cas's back and shoulders, and his legs feel oh-so-weak as he braces them against Castiel’s.


End file.
